


Navy Blue, Left

by BeautyInChains



Series: The Hanky Code [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Barebacking, Bottom!Rick, Creampie, Feelings, Fluff, Handkerchief Code, M/M, Masturbation, Teasing, Unsafe Sex, top!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInChains/pseuds/BeautyInChains
Summary: “What?”“Nothing, just. Your handkerchief’s on the wrong side.”Which, what? Daryl pats at his pockets. He hadn’t tucked one this morning, he’d—He pulls the navy blue bandana from his back left pocket. Left. For fucking. And Rick had put it there. Rick wants Daryl to fuck him.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Series: The Hanky Code [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703434
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	Navy Blue, Left

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, part two of the hanky code!! I started this so many times, and no matter how hard I tried to focus on a new color, I just kept coming back to reversing the navy. So, I decided to roll with it. Can there really ever be enough fucking? The next part will for sure feature a new hanky, but for now I hope you enjoy this :) Some feelings managed to sneak their way in here, not sure how that happened, but I am really happy with how this came out.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think and feel free to come at me to chat about our boys in the comments below!
> 
> Also, I just finished Episode 15 of Season 9 and I'm definitely not crying. I'm totally fine. This is fine : ')

They have a hard time keeping their hands to themselves after that. It doesn’t take much at all to have Daryl absolutely itching for release. A heated glance across the table at dinner, a deliberate swipe of tongue over bottom lip, a hand on the shoulder that lingers just a touch too long. Daryl feels even more hardwired to respond to Rick’s every move. Words like “run” and “perimeter check” take on a new meaning. A run isn’t just for supplies anymore, it’s for hastily parked handjobs over the middle console. A perimeter check isn’t just for security, it’s for frantic rutting against walls and bitten-off moans after dark.

While their secret code has taken a backseat, it doesn’t escape Daryl that Rick has taken to wearing the navy bandana in the left back pocket of his jeans. It’s a delicious reminder of their first frantic fuck that makes Daryl shiver every time he sees it. He wonders if Rick’s washed it yet. A part of him hopes to hell that Rick has. But there’s another part of Daryl, darker and baser, that hopes he hasn’t.

This sunny Sunday morning proves to be no exception to the sexual current that flows constantly now between the two of them, pleasantly electrifying. Of course, Rick notices, Daryl’s eyes unfocused and blown out with desire. A naughty little smirk tugging at Rick’s lips as he sips from his coffee mug. “Y’r such a dick,” Daryl grouses, adjusted himself in his jeans and Rick laughs.

“Y’r so easy,” Rick says, shaking his head. Daryl narrows his eyes, which may have looked intimidating if not for the flush on his cheeks and chub pressing itself insistently against his zipper.

“You callin’ me a slut, Grimes?”

Rick licks his lips slow as he sets his mug on the kitchen island, crystal blue eyes darkening rapidly, “Wasn’t, but now you mention it.” Daryl gives a little warning growl, fisting the front of Rick’s button down and walking him backwards until Rick hits the island. Rick swallows hard and Daryl can feel him thickening up against his hip. 

“What does ‘at make you?” he asks, nuzzling into Rick’s beard, loving the scrape of it against his skin. Rick squirms a bit against him and for a moment Daryl thinks he’s trying to get away, but then he feels Rick’s hand sinking into his left back pocket. Daryl draws back, slow and curious, to meet Rick’s mischievous gaze.

“Guess you’ll have ‘t find out tonight,” Rick replies before pressing a painfully chaste kiss to Daryl’s dry lips and shoving him back by the hips. And then he’s gone, leaving Daryl horny and bewildered and alone in the kitchen.

Daryl hears a snort and turns to find Michonne standing in the doorway nursing her own cup of coffee. Okay then, not so alone. _Fuck_. Daryl groans, dropping his chin to his chest and pressing himself up against the island in a rather obvious attempt to conceal the throbbing length of his cock. “Aww, hell,” he rumbles and Michonne laughs then, loud and bright.

“Carl’s awake, you know. Don’t let him catch you like that. The poor kid’s been through enough as it is.”

“Ugh, shuddup,” Daryl mutters, reaching down to adjust himself once more before straightening up. Michonne still looks far too amused for his liking, so he makes sure to throw a little extra weight into the shoulder he gives her as he pushes through the doorway. Instead of pushing back like he expects, Michonne makes an inquisitive sound that has Daryl’s brows furrowing. “What?”

“Nothing, just. Your handkerchief’s on the wrong side.”

Which, _what_? Daryl pats at his pockets. He hadn’t tucked one this morning, he’d—He pulls the navy blue bandana from his back left pocket. Left. For fucking. And Rick had put it there. Rick wants Daryl to fuck him. Daryl’s fingers tighten around the bit of cloth, knuckles whitening as an involuntary strangled noise rips itself from his throat. Michonne’s eyes widen, hands coming up in surrender. “I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I’m out,” she says, turning and making her way up back upstairs leaving Daryl and his bandana to it.

Daryl ends up locking himself in the bathroom, braced against the sink and breathing hard. The thing is, Daryl really likes getting fucked. _A lot_. And ever since their truck bed tryst, Daryl’s had a hard time thinking of little else. As much as he loves it, he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about splaying Rick out and sinking inside. And Rick sneaking the handkerchief into his left back pocket? Well, it can’t be more clear. Rick wants to get fucked. Tonight. The thought makes Daryl’s head spin. He cups himself through his jeans, squeezing and stroking over the fabric, and _yeah_. Daryl wants it, too.

Daryl bites into his bottom lip as he undoes his pants and pulls out his cock, flushes when he catches his own desperate reflection in the bathroom mirror. He closes his eyes and strokes hard and fast, with purpose. The thinks about Rick’s head thrown back in ecstasy, throat corded and working around those low growls and deep moans, thinks about Rick’s muscular thighs locked around his waist and the tight heat of him clutching at Daryl’s cock.

Daryl comes with a sharp gasp. It’s sudden, the way he spurts over his fist and into the porcelain sink. He wrinkles his nose, a bit disgusted with himself as he comes down. He drags his fingers through the mess in the sink before flicking at the tap to rinse the viscous evidence away. Maybe not disgusted enough, he thinks, as he washes his hands. Daryl tucks himself back into his jeans and straightens his vest. He drags his forearm across his forehead to mop up some of the sweat that’s beaded along his hairline. His cheeks are still a bit flush with release, his hair mussed, and lips swollen from biting down on them to keep quiet, but… _Fuck_. Who is he kidding? He looks exactly like he just got himself off in the communal bathroom. He’s going to kill Rick.

Daryl doesn’t see Rick until late afternoon. He’s hunched over his vegetable patch in a way that has the blue denim of his jeans stretched tight over his firm ass. He’s stripped himself of the button down he had been wearing this morning and has managed sweat almost all the way through the thin white undershirt. Daryl follows the translucent fabric from the back of his collar to where it disappears beneath his jeans. Rick’s curls are damp, too, limp and dripping at the nape of his neck. _Christ_. Daryl wants to slink up behind him and lick and suck and bite until Rick begs Daryl to take him right there in the dirt.

Rick must sense a presence then, because he turns at the waist, eyes squinting in the westward sun. He huffs a laugh and wipes at his sweaty brow with the back of one of his filthy gloves, succeeding only in smearing dirt across the sun kissed skin. “Was wonderin’ when I’d be seein’ you,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat, reaching for his water bottle. Daryl watches Rick shuck his gloves and bring the bottle to his lips. He drinks like a dying man. Head thrown back, throat working, lips wet, almost like…Daryl shakes his head. He can’t ever remember a time in his life when he’d been this goddamn horny. 

A bit of water dribbles down Rick’s scruffy chin in his haste to quench his thirst and Daryl must make some sort of embarrassing noise because Rick almost spits as he draws the bottle back. “Well fuck, Darlin’,” Rick says, low. He gives the area a cursory glance to make sure they’re out of ear shot before adding, “You’re just achin’ for it, ain’t you?” Daryl nods, fingers twitching at his sides. Rick tracks the slight movement and his smile grows. “Yeah, you are. You been hard since this mornin’?”

“Mmh,” Daryl replies, tipping his head to the side, “’cept for right after I beat off in the bathroom.”

Rick’s laugh leaves him in a surprised burst. He licks at his lips, eyes twinkling, “Is that right?” Daryl takes a few slow steps toward Rick, bridging the space between them. He reaches into his back left pocket and tugs the handkerchief free. He makes a show of soaking up the sweat along his throat and collar bones before tucking it back where Rick had put it.

“Been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy. Hadn’t really thought…but, now I can’t stop, can I? You—you want it?” It’s supposed to be a statement, Rick’s intentions had been clear, but still it comes out like a question. Rick swallows so hard Daryl can hear it.

“Yeah,” Rick murmurs, rising to his feet. The heat hits Daryl a little bit harder with Rick standing right in his space like that. He watches the rise and fall of Rick’s chest, the little rivulet of sweat that runs down his temple. “Yeah, I want it. Been thinkin’ about it, too. Almost can’t wait,” he says with a chuckle. Daryl reaches out and thumbs at the streak of dirt on Rick’s forehead, to no effect. The touch is brief and innocent enough, but Rick trembles.

“We don’t have t’, we could—” Rick shakes his head.

“ _Tonight_. Carol said she’d take Judith after supper. So I could get some sleep.”

“Sleep, huh?” Rick smiles sheepishly.

“Well, yeah. Supposin’ you let me sleep, after. She don’t need to know about the first part.”

Daryl shrugs, “’Might let y’ sleep, supposin’ you earn it.” Daryl watches the blush bloom across Rick’s cheekbones with satisfaction. He likes knowing he has the same effect on Rick that Rick has on him. Daryl’s toes curl in his boots, the dirt shifting beneath him. “Tonight, then,” he says, turning on his heel. He succeeds in resisting the urge to look back at Rick over his shoulder, but just barely.

If Daryl had thought the tension between them was palpable in the garden, _oh boy_. He really hadn’t given any thought as to how they were going to make it through dinner. Rick’s freshly showered, changed, and dirt free in a clean, clingy blue tee and jeans. He smells like soap and aftershave, having visibly trimmed up his beard a little. Daryl almost misses the way Rick had smelled in the garden, salty and earthy and musky. Rick’s too busy spoon-feeding Judith to notice Daryl standing dumbly in place, plate in hand and fork in mouth, trying to decide between sitting next to Rick or across from him. Lesser of two evils and all that. In the end, he settles into a chair opposite him, plate clattering onto the table unceremoniously. The noise draws Judith’s attention first, then Rick’s by default. Daryl goes hot under the sudden scrutiny.

“What?” he grunts, shoveling a heaping forkful of mashed potato in his mouth, much to Judith’s delight. She squeals at the sight of his bulging cheeks and tries to grab at him from across the table. Rick laughs, warm and low, the sound settling somewhere below Daryl’s belly button and he has to swipe Carl’s water for a gulp to keep from choking.

“Hey!” Carl yelps.

Daryl waves him off as he swallows, slamming the glass back down onto the table, “Sorry, kid. Wrong tube, _fuck_.”

“You good?” Rick asks, good naturedly, smirk tugging at his lips.

“’m fine, don’t need y’r fussin’.”

“Maybe you should take smaller bites, then,” Carl replies bluntly and Michonne cackles next to him, offering her fist for a bump. Daryl rolls his eyes.

“Y’all gangin’ up on me, I see how it is,” he says before taking a significantly smaller bite. Rick’s gone back to feeding Judith, cooing something about airplanes and making downright mortifying sound effects as the spoonful of mushy peas dips and swoops before landing squarely in her pudgy little mouth. Green tinted sludge drips down her chin, but Rick’s ready, scooping it back into her mouth with the small plastic spoon. Daryl’s thankful for the distraction of familial normalcy. Anything to take his mind off of—

Rick’s eyes flit to the clock on the wall and he shifts almost imperceptibly in his seat. Except it’s not imperceptible, not to Daryl and Rick knows it. Rick catches Daryl’s gaze and gives him small, secret smile. Daryl coughs and busies himself with pushing the food around his plate knowing full well the niggling, gnawing feeling in his belly has nothing to do with hunger. Daryl almost wants to commend Rick on this new brand of torture, but he knows that, under that aggravatingly calm mask he’s wearing, Rick is aching for it just as badly as he is.

Daryl forces himself to take another bite as he glances around the table. Carl’s almost done his second plate. Michonne’s onto her last few bites. Glenn and Maggie have thrown in the proverbial towel and are chatting about the run they went on earlier. Carol’s already started tidying up. Judith is squirming and shrieking with displeasure as Rick tries to wipe down her filthy face. She’s managed to get pea smeared all the way up to her left elbow and some in her hair. Carol comes back in and snatches the damp rag out of Rick’s hand, “Gimme that, you’re just making it worse.” Rick sighs and relents, watches as Carol distracts Judith with one hand and wipes her clean with the other.

“Fuckin’ baby whisperer,” Daryl mutters with a smile, pushing his plate away.

“And don’t you forget it, Pookie,” she replies grinning, before turning toward Rick, “I got her. Already moved her bassinet into my room for the night.”

Rick’s features soften, shoulders dropping as the tension seems to seep out of him. “Thank you, Carol,” he says, “I owe you one.”

Carol waves him off, “Don’t be silly. Now shoo, it’s been a long one.”

Rick nods, rising from his seat, stretching his arms overhead. Daryl hears the little pop of his spine, and the hem of Rick’s shirt rides up just enough to reveal the dark trail of hair that leads from his belly button downward. Rick flushes a bit when he realizes Daryl’s watching him. He lowers his arms, clears his throat before tugging his shirt down. “Well, goodnight,” he says and receives a chorus of the same in return. He rounds the table and claps Carl on the shoulder, “Night, son.”

“Night, Dad.”

Rick casts a quick, meaningful glance at Daryl then and Daryl gives him a nod in return. And then he’s off, the steps creaking beneath his feet as he makes his way upstairs. Daryl swears his breath quickens at the sound. Because he knows that Rick’s going up to his bedroom. To wait for Daryl. To wait for Daryl to come up and fuck him. And, he’s blushing again. He can feel the heat crawl up his chest, settle in his cheeks and wrap along the back of his neck. Michonne reaches across Carl’s shoulders to flick Daryl in the arm, effectively breaking his musings. “You, too,” she says, “Get out of here.”

“What?”

Michonne rolls her eyes. “Oh, I see. You think you’re real slick.” Even Carl’s looking at him now, face a decided mix between pity and discomfort. Daryl drops his head into his hands with a groan when he realizes that everyone fucking knows that Rick is upstairs waiting for Daryl. _Even Carl_.

“Aww, Christ, ‘chonne,” he mumbles into his fist before pushing away from the table, “Fine, I’m goin’, y’ happy?”

“ _Yup_ ,” Carl drawls as the rest nod along.

Daryl tries to ignore the laughter and whispers that follow him up the stairs. He throws the door open without knocking, jabbing a thumb back over his shoulder, “You hear that shit? Everyone knows we’re—” Daryl’s tirade comes to a screeching halt when his eyes finally focus on Rick. Rick, who is already naked and splayed out on the bed, feet planted and knees drawn up with two slick fingers fucking in and out of his hole. “ _Jesus_ ,” Daryl swears, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Hate t’ disappoint, but Jesus actually left for Hilltop this mornin',” Rick shoots back playfully, and how he manages to do that while he’s fingering himself Daryl may never know because all of the blood in his body has rushed to his dick. Rick catches his bottom lip between his teeth, biting back a moan as his cock twitches against his belly. That seems to kick Daryl back into gear and he shucks his vest. It lands with a soft thump on the floor as his fingers find the hem of his shirt and he rips it over his head.

“Been losin’ my fuckin’ mind,” Daryl growls as he tears at the button of his jeans and zipper before jerking them down his legs. His cock slaps up against his belly. “That fuckin' hanky burnin’ a hole in my pocket all damn day,” he continues as he kicks out of his jeans and gets a knee up onto the bed, “Thinkin’ ‘bout this right here.”

“Yeah?” Rick asks and Daryl nods. He leans in, a hand on Rick’s knee as he braces himself to take a closer look. Rick looks so tight and pink, hole clutching deliciously at his fingers. Daryl notices the lube on the bed then and grins.

“I get th’ spit an’ you get th’ good stuff, I see how it is.”

Rick rolls his eyes before his lids flutter shut and he moans out, “Nuh uh. Jus’ planned better, ‘s ‘all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl mutters as he curls his fingers around Rick’s wrist and tugs. He groans when Rick’s hole clenches around nothing and clambers up between his legs. Rick slaps the lube against Daryl’s chest and sits back on his elbows to watch Daryl squirt the liquid over his fingers to slick himself up. Something about Rick watching him do it, so attentively, makes his belly swoop. The wet part of Rick’s lips, and the dark, almost dangerous look in his eye. Daryl strokes just enough to make sure he’s nice and wet before chucking the lube behind him.

Rick gasps as Daryl tugs him forward by the hips and his elbows slip, head falling back against the pillows. “Christ, _Daryl_ , c’mon. Need it,” Rick says, writhing against him. Daryl growls again as his cock catches against Rick’s hole only to slip and nudge at his balls.

“Then stop fuckin’ movin’,” Daryl grunts as he lines back up and thrusts. They both groan as Daryl begins to sink inside; wet, and slow, and so fucking hot. “ _Oh fuck_ ,” Daryl swears as he bottoms out. Rick is so tight around him it almost hurts. He struggles to keep still, to let Rick adjust, Rick seeming to flutter around him with every breath he takes. “You feel so good.”

“God, _move_. C’mon, Darlin’. Give it to me. Make me feel it.”

Daryl releases a shuddering sigh as he draws almost all the way back out before thrusting back in, punching the air out of Rick’s lungs. He likes that. Rick flushed and breathless and arching up beneath him. Daryl goes hard, pounding Rick for all he’s worth. Rick howls, hands coming up to fist in Daryl’s long hair. Nails scrape at the sensitive skin of his scalp and pull at the strands. “Mmph, keep doin’ that. God, _Rick_ ,” he murmurs, head dropping into the crook of Rick’s sweaty neck. And that’s it. That’s the scent he loves, almost the same now as in the garden. But Daryl knows he can make it better, thinks about what Rick will smell like when they’re done, when he’s spent and covered in come.

Daryl has to slow his hips into a grind to keep from coming. Rick whines and tries to pick the pace back up. Daryl shakes his head, nips at the shell of Rick’s ear, “Naw, ‘m gonna come if we don’t slow down. Waited all day. Gonna make it count.” He shifts his weight a bit and Rick’s jaw drops, fingers tugging painfully at Daryl’s hair.

“There, there, fuckin’ there,” Rick snarls, adjusting his grip to clutch at Daryl’s broad shoulders, nails sinking into the skin. Daryl’s heart hammers in his chest as he tries to rock his hips the same way he had a moment ago inadvertently. It must work because Rick makes another wholly inhuman sound and his body seems to ripple around Rick’s cock. “Don’t stop.”

“Rick, I—”

“I swear to God above, if you stop now I will fuckin’ shoot you.”

Right.

Daryl picks it back up. And it’s good. Too fucking good. The creak of the bed springs, the filthy noises pouring out of Rick’s mouth, the slew of curse words, the feel of Rick’s wet, throbbing cock dragging against Daryl’s belly with every thrust. Daryl whines as Rick rears up and catches his bottom lip between his teeth at the same time he rakes his nails down the length of Daryl’s sweat slicked back. It hurts so good. “I—I’m gonna come,” Rick rasps against his lips and Daryl barely has time to process before Rick’s legs lock around his hips and his back bows off the bed.

Daryl can feel Rick’s cock kick against his belly as he spurts hot and wet between them. Rick’s whole body goes tight and he clenches down almost painfully around Daryl’s cock. And if Daryl had thought he had been close before, it’s nothing compared to this. To Rick beneath him, coming for him so beautifully, so perfectly. Knowing he did that. “Rick,” he says in a rush and Rick must hear the panic in his voice. They hadn’t talked about how he’d want it.

“Inside,” he slurs, rocking back into Daryl, “Inside me, Darlin’.”

It washes over him then, hard and fast. He fucks in deep, stays there as his cock pulses and Rick moans at the feel of Daryl’s release flooding him. Rick captures Daryl’s lips, swallowing the cry that rushes out of him. Daryl returns the kiss the best he can, body trembling above Rick’s through the aftershocks. In the end it’s Rick who breaks it first, bumping his nose against Daryl’s. “I’m leaking,” he says. It catches Daryl by surprise and he laughs out loud, eyes crinkling. And then Rick’s laughing, too. Then wincing. “ _Ow_.”

“Aww, hell,” Daryl says, sitting back on his knees and withdrawing as gently as he can. He watches the way his come seems to rush out now that there’s somewhere for it to go. He swallows at the sight. The thick white fluid, so much of it pouring from Rick’s puffy, fucked out hole. “Jesus,” he swears, reaching down to brush a finger through the mess. Rick huffs and tries to close his legs. “You good?”

“Mmph,” Rick replies, knocking Daryl with his knee, “Bit sore, but good. Real good.”

“I get what ‘y mean now,” Daryl says, continues when Rick tips his head to the side, questioning, “Y’ look good like this. Mine,” he finishes with a shrug, not sure how else to put it besides the way Rick had done.

“You ain’t wrong, Darlin’” Rick says, eyes calm and bright as Daryl meets his gaze, “‘m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Daryl rolls onto his side and chews on the inside of his cheek. “If I’d a known you’d be such a sap after, I’d a told y’ t’ take me f’r another spin instead,” he deflects. Rick doesn’t rise to the bait though; waits patiently with an infuriatingly knowing smile playing at his lips. Daryl sighs, settling his hand over Rick’s heart. The beat has slowed in the come down, but it’s strong and sure against Daryl’s palm. He drums his fingers against Rick’s heated skin. “Me too.”

Rick _beams_. There’s no other word for it. And Daryl’s pretty sure that the afterglow is only part of the reason. Rick looks so damn good like this, happy and sated. Daryl’s thinks there’s something else behind those eyes too, but before he can figure it out Carl is hollering up the stairs snapping them both rudely from their post-coital reverie.

“Ugh, are you done?! Can I come up to bed now?”

Rick, gone an almost alarming shade of red with embarrassment, yells “Yes!” at the same time Daryl shouts “No! We ain’t done yet.” The pillow Rick smothers Daryl with serves to not only drown out whatever else Carl might have to say about it, but muffle Daryl’s laughter as well.


End file.
